I got my car washed today because I know it's going to rain. Pre rain is the perfect time to go to the car wash because no sane people are there. Just people who don't follow the weather or people who play mind games with nature and decide if they actually get their car washed then it won't rain. Everyone sitting on the chairs next to me (three people) looked like they should be committed. Like characters out of Cuckoo's Nest. But they kept looking at me like I was the crazy one. Oh right. You have no idea who I am or what I've done, you car wash people, you. Just because I'm wearing my pajamas and have tube hanging out of my sweatshirt does not mean you cannot respect me! I tried to make conversation..."You know, it's supposed to rain." But they just ignored me and pretended to check their cell phones. But when my car was ready I triumphantly closed my robe and put my slippers back on and marched to my Prius as if it was a waiting carriage. Crazy people. I have so had it with them.
Whilst (Oh my God I need a drink badly) in the market which for some reason took forever because I was a little light headed and kept wandering from aisle to aisle trying to remember what I wanted to buy...And when I realized that I had no idea what I was doing there I picked up three items that I thought might be useful...Dog food, paper towels, and a small container of chopped liver. Now, I haven't eaten chopped liver since I was 15. I haven't eaten red meat since 1969. (True) But in my weakened state I feel a great need for meat products. It upsets me greatly because the idea of killing a cow or a chicken goes against the goal I had set for myself before all of this weird illness stuff started happening which was to become a vegetarian...Again. And then suddenly I lost part of my tummy and I think part of my brain and I now want to devour an entire Holstein. (I went to school with a Minnie Holstein but I'm not talking about her.) Oh, the guilt, the guilt. This can't be right, grinding up a little chicken's liver. No, I'm going to throw it out. Not that that will bring back the poor chicken who had to suffer for my crazy whim. Oh, I feel awful. But at the same time I am fucking starving! Oh, but I'm not really starving. That is such an exaggeration. I know, I'll send the chopped liver to Africa. Is that a good idea? Oh, I'm a terrible person. Wasting food, killing chickens and cows.
I think I need a job.
So I picked up a magazine at the checkout counter and there was one of those articles that makes me want to convince everyone in the market that "I'm not sick. I've got nothing. This is not a bright red and blue tube sticking out of my p.j.s. Nope. I'm fine." It was all about female cancer survivers and how their lives had changed in mostly wonderful ways. One woman decided that having survived cancer she could finally become goofy. Goofy! THAT is what you came away with after a near death experience? If I live for another 25 years and all I've learned from this is to become goofy, then I am telling you that this is one humongous joke to somebody out there. Then another woman decided that now was her time pick up an accordian. Have these women been injected with heroine? Goofy and an accordian? I should write to the magazine and tell them I think I'm about to be a survivor and I cannot wait to get myself a yo-yo. Which, I think means, that all of us survivors should have actually died because it seems like we have nothing remotely useful to contribute to this world. And the woman who wanted to learn how to cha cha.
Cha Cha cannot be the meaning of life. Can it? And if so...What planet am I on?
I feel sick about the chopped liver. I should probably feel sick about the dog food, too.
Think I'm going stir crazy?...One, two cha cha cha......................